


not even into another eternity (will you stop your lovely orbiting)

by Buttercup_ghost



Series: dreams and ideas should not be the same thing [1]
Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Background Het, Background Relationships, Canon Rewrite, Canonical Character Death, Character Development, Character Study, Depression, F/F, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Kyuubey is the worst but that’s to be expected, Lowercase, Madoka Kaname-Centric, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Not A Fix-It, Role Reversal, Roleswap, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but not in the fun way!, counts as a unhealthy coping mechanism, im pretty sure traveling back in time over and over, madokas having a fun time. Really, not really sure how to tag this tbh, pmmm? in the year 2020? more likely than you’d think!, sayaka is a good friend, suicide ideation, the sayaka/kyousuke is like. really minor & one sided like in canon, to avoid dealing with your grief, unfortunately that’s not really enough, wish swap, wishswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:13:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22732336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: i’ll be the moon, you be the earthand when we burstoh darling,begin again, begin again, begin again.-her hood hides her. her hair brushes her neck, as it hangs loose. it’s a reminder; her mission, her goal, focused on laser sharp, through the eye of a sniper scope.(the locks feel more like a noose.)-when walpurgis strikes, the very first time, it is not homura akemi who makes a wish.it is a girl with pink hair and flashy red ribbons.(she trades them for curtains draped into cloaks, hiding within memories with smiles so fake and practiced, a play with no other actors.)(and she runs from the reality closing in on her.)
Relationships: Akemi Homura & Kaname Madoka, Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka, Kamijou Kyousuke/Miki Sayaka, Kaname Madoka & Miki Sayaka, Kaname Madoka & Tomoe Mami
Series: dreams and ideas should not be the same thing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634626
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	not even into another eternity (will you stop your lovely orbiting)

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve wanted to write this for... a few years now, i think? but i only just now got around to it, tbh. i started writing this draft on valentine’s day, i believe? which is a bit ironic, considering. 
> 
> anyways! yeah. madoka and homura roleswap/wishswap au! i’m not sure why this isn’t that popular, it was one of the first concepts i thought of for madoka magica, but i’ve only seen a few of these floating around? which is a bit odd, to me. i would have thought this would be a more prevalent concept, but apparently not? i mean, maybe it’s just bc i related to madoka the most when i first watched, so i’m more fixated on her than other people. i know a lot tend to focus on the other characters, and i love all of them, but i think people tend to overlook madoka, some, which... is a little weird, since i liked her a lot. people think she’s plain, but i don’t think that’s quite right. her conflict and flaws may not be in your face compared to the others, but they’re still there. (and it gives me a lot to capitalize and expand on in this setting, which.. sounds a bit cruel to say, but it’s true regardless.)
> 
> so. yeah. 
> 
> welcome to my wishswap au, buckle up bc it’s a bit of a ride.
> 
> (side note, i can’t believe this is my 190th work on this site?? that’s Really Wild, but i guess not as wild as the fact that i have 200 wips/story ideas i _still_ haven’t written/finished, so. what can i say, i have a lot of ideas!)

snapshots.

loosely connected, they blur in her mind. garbled and out of focus; vivid in the oddest details, excerpts, poorly cobbled together images.

too many.

they dissolve—

_too much._

a play that’s gone on for far too long; reruns.

madoka kaname was not built for time travel. the images blend, her mind fumbling. a painting, colored bright—but the rain washes it away into a hazey hue. 

her hood hides her. her hair brushes her neck, as it hangs loose. it’s a reminder; her mission, her goal, focused on laser sharp, through the eye of a sniper scope.

(the locks feel more like a noose.)

she smiles all the same. she cannot afford to let it slip; she cannot afford to seem like she has changed, broken and fragile and frail. even if her gem is dark and foreboding, grief seeds hidden away for use by the dozens, even if she cracks and fades and wavers.

she smiles all the same.

(it’s the hardest part. she wishes she could let it fall like a curtain, leaving behind blank blank nothingness upon her face, marble and unreachable, unbreakable, but a girl like madoka kaname cannot afford to. she knows this; she’s lived this. her smile stays fixed in place, a cheep imitation of something real, sewn onto her, stitched painfully into place. because she is not marble. she is not stone; not unreachable, untouchable, not _strong_. she has only ever been herself—counterfeited across time, weak and cowardly all the same. plain, boring, carrying this task of running because facing reality was _scary_ , and living in the past seemed a better place to hide.)

(a coward until the end.)

homura was counting on her.

homura was _always_ counting on her, even if she didn’t know it yet.

(she never understood why she’d choose someone like _her_ to count on.)

* * *

there was something that burned her.

it was something like blindness; like _naivety_ , that made her reach out. a grey, nebulous area—knowing too much, but not enough. 

the unknowns, and the knowns. they blended in her mind, as her hand stretched towards that spiders thread.

kyuubey smiled at her, as she grasped it, and wished.

(she’ll always hate him for that. she’ll always hate him, all him, and only him. every single one—she’ll burn them to the ground. there has to be a limit. there is always a limit, to every species, after all. she’ll reach the end; shoot all of them dead until they are still and silent and _gone gone gone_. they will never be safe until he’s gone.)

she wanted to save them all.

sayaka, her best friend. mami, her mentor. kyouko, her teammate.

_homura_. 

(her **everything**.)

“it’s scary.”

she wanted to hide. she wanted to run.

she wanted to live in a world where none of this happened, yet, live in a fantasy—

she wanted to save them.

she wanted to play the hero. 

(it’s just pretend, and egotism soaks her; she’s always thought just having this power, and saving someone with it, was something truly wonderful. she’s always wanted that; wanted to be like that. she weaves the patchwork—maybe if she had this power, she’d have worth. maybe if she saved someone, she would like herself. no longer pathetic, foolish madoka, taking up space, breathing air undeserved. instead, a heroine on a mission; a savior to all.)

~~(is such a thing selfless— _or_ _selfish?_ )~~

yet, as she said those words that damned her, all she could really think of was _her_ ; braided hair shining, purple eyes twinkling, hidden behind red glasses. 

and she wished.

* * *

(she shouldn’t have made that wish. for things to end the way they did, that first time, way back when; everyone dead and gone, dust on the wind, fallen fighting to save someone, with hope and belief and _belief in_ that hope, _in_ those wishes, cut short and tragic _but not as tragic as it could be, would be, will be—_

it would have been a mercy.)

* * *

she ripped away their deaths, their glorious final _supernova,_ resetting it all to square one.

but she hadn’t realized it yet; she ripped away the peace that came with it, too.

they died unaware—they died _fighting_ , with hope in their hearts, instead of despair; they died as magical girls, and not witches.

but madoka could not accept that.

no. not her, desperate and lonely, sparking yellow. not her, idealistic and wanting, crying blue. not her, hoping and selfish, bleeding red. 

not her, burning and passionate, flaring purple. 

sacrificing everything for something.

(what a horrid pink.) 

desiring; wishing; hoping; wanting—they all just different shades, different sounds and words to say the same thing. love and envy, despair and hope, they were all just different sides to a rubix cube she could never solve. unorderly, they all mix together, and she finds herself unable to set it right.

passion twists.

and at her command, so does time.

* * *

“no,” she whispered it, “no, no, no, nonononono _no_ ,”

her eyes were wide, only one ribbon on, the other having slid off in the battle. her hood was torn down, tattered, hanging off of her shoulders, still showing her face. she wished it wouldn’t. she wished she could hide, hide away from this cruel reality, staring her in the face. she couldn’t breathe.

“why? why? why—”

the tears burst, “how could this happen?! we defeated her! we won! why is homura-chan...”

a gleam.

his eyes.

“what’s wrong, madoka kaname? surely you didn’t think you could create miracles, without giving something else in exchange?” 

oh.

oh.

she laughed as her tears cascaded down her cheeks, soulgem dark.

but not dark enough.

(it wasn’t attacking her— _she_ wasn’t attacking her. the witch in front of her; the girl in front of her, the girl that she _loved, the girl that she **failed** —_) 

(even in her grief, homura-chan could never hurt her.)

she craned her head at him, eyes wide, the brink of madness. just a little more, and she could

_ttttiiipppp....._

right over the edge.

“so you were just using us?” she chokes on it with a smile, rivers bleeding. “that’s it, then?”

she laughed. “this is what we are? what we’re meant to become?”

he stared at her. cocked his head. it felt like a gun, loaded, and he fired the shots. “humans are so illogical. we don’t understand why you always react this way.”

and she

could

scream.

“ah.” it was a soft sound, as her face blanked. an acknowledgment, more than anything.

“are you trying to get me, to fall, too?”

the creature blinked. “why wouldn’t you? there’s nothing left to hope for. whatever your wish was, it has surely betrayed you, has it not? everyone is gone. why not despair?” 

“no.” something glinted in her eyes, a flint, a steel. “ _no_.”

that wasn’t right.

as long as she had this power, madoka kaname would always have hope.

she smiled. “that’s right. you never did know what my wish was.” 

her hand tangled in her cloak, turning the white fabric nebulous, as her gloves spark golden. she pulls it off like it’s a cape; like it’s a _curtain,_ flashing maroon, falling down upon this horrified tragedy with a flourish. 

“hope you enjoyed the show,” she giggled, “because it’s time for an **encore**.” 

kyuubey eyes widen, but it was already too late. 

she twists out of sight with a bow.

* * *

“i..” 

madoka kaname looked to her oldest friend, pleading. 

sayaka hesitated. “madoka wouldn’t lie about this.” something determined entered her eyes, “if - i trust her. if she says this will happen, then it will.” 

her hopes soared, and she smiled. 

sayaka always had her back. the knowledge was warm. 

mami looked between them them, eyes near glowing. conflict flashed, before it settled, much like sayaka, just moments before.

but her conclusion was one much different. “kyubey has always been there for me. i’m sorry, but your word is not enough. if what you’re staying is true...”

madoka face fell.

(if what she’s saying is true, then mami is already-)

“i’m sorry,” she whispered, “i-i’m so _sorry_ , mami-san.” 

she thinks of the girls hand in hers, that first loop. those words she said.

(“once i find my wish, you’ll never fight alone.”) 

the lanterns around them don’t illuminate tears, this time. they illuminate backlit yellow, full of mistrust instead of gratitude. 

and the girl doesn’t smile at her words, this time, but recoils.

“i can’t believe that, madoka kaname.”

(she doesn’t want to.) 

* * *

“sayaka,” madoka said, high and aching, eyes full of tears and incomprehension. she didn’t understand, she didn’t understand, she wanted to plead and beg and open her eyes to find this image of sayaka had just been a dream, a memory, nothing more than a ghost. but it wasn’t. “you said you wouldn’t–” her voice breaks. “you said you _wouldn’t_.”

she looks stressed and agitated, fiddling with her sword, sheathed on her hip. “i-i- i _had_ to!” sayaka snaps, before she deflates, sick and anxious. “i-i, i’m sorry, madoka, but you- no one else is coming. if i did nothing, hitomi- she had a witches kiss on her neck! madoka, if i did nothing-” she faltered, voice breaking off into nothing, before it cracked high and scared and desperate, “ _i didn’t want to die.”_

her breathing was rough, when she paused. looked away. whispered it, desperation turned to stillness and static. “and you didn’t see him, last time i went to visit it,” her voice was hoarse, “you didn’t _hear_ him.”

she looked at her, helplessly. “he sounded so _hopeless_.” 

“oh, sayaka,” madoka breathed, hand to her mouth, eyes stinging. her chest was tight was a grief so thick she could choke on it. her soulgem was swirling. “ _sayaka_.”

she tried to smile, but it looked ill, to madoka. nervous. afraid. “here,” she tossed the seed she was holding to her, “you can have it. i-i don’t need it.” 

(they both heard the unspoken _yet_ , at the end of her sentence.)

“but-” madoka started, before sayaka cut her off with a glare, pointing to her gem, a plain to see heart on top her chest, “madoka. it’s already too dark.” 

she hesitated, then nodded. the darkness separated from her gem, as she pressed it to the seed, a sigh of relief as the pressure lessened. she paused, looking to where sayaka was slightly swaying. “are you- are you sure you’re okay, sayaka?”

her smile was meant to be reassuring, “i’m fine, madoka.”

she wasn’t reassured at all. 

(she saw that same expression in the mirror too many times to be.) 

* * *

the first time sayaka turns into a witch, all she can do is watch, horrified, tears streaming down her face.

it was almost inconceivable. 

she falls to her knees, as if to prey; as if to beg for a different outcome, as if to wish for this to just be a dream. 

then, a gleam—she sees it from the corner of her eye, and her head turns at the sound; a bang, a shatter.

her soulgem swirls darker, as she comprehends.

mami is crying. holding a gun, her own gem dark. 

kyouko is laying on the floor.

her gem shards lay scattered and broken, right next to where madoka kneels.

gem shards.

“oh,” it’s hardly even a sound. “oh.”

mami is talking, but all madoka can hear is static, loud and ringing in her ears. mami is talking, and mami is aiming her gun at her chest, and madoka can only stare up at her, tears like dew clinging to her lashes. her voice is hoarse, a whisper. a _plea_ , “mami.” 

her former mentor’s eyes overflow, cascading down her cheeks as she shakes and trembles, her voice cracking and broken, “madoka,” she answers, barely heard over the white noise, “i’m sorry.”

(mami has a 89% accuracy rate, madoka thinks, dully. everything feels distant, like it isn’t even real. she has the urge to laugh—just a play, really. that’s all this world was. she was so _sick_ of how the curtains called.)

mami moved to move the trigger. 

(madoka didn’t want to die; her tears fell, desperate. she felt helpless—her eyes screwed shut. she couldn’t hurt mami. she was paralyzed, not just from the ribbons that bonded her. she wondered when they got there.) 

there was a bang; there was a shatter. the ribbons around her dissolved, sobs echoing within the near empty chamber. only two girls were left—they had started with five. when did it all go so wrong?

(the moment they wished for miracles; they were doomed from the beginning. madoka was learning, the lines flashing in her mind. the script was cruel.) 

her gem remained unshattered. her eyes opened.

she was still here.

mami wasn’t.

“i’m sorry,” homura hiccuped, “she was going to shoot you. i’m sorry.” 

“homura-chan...” her voice was faint and broken, “homura-chan.” 

she didn’t know what she was trying to say. an assurance, a plea—or maybe a apology. (for failing. for wishing. for everything.) 

“you can change this,” homura said, tears watering her voice, “can’t you? i know it’s selfish. please.” 

it was near babble. like a brook, it rumbled nonsense, crashing down in a waterfall. 

madoka understood.

(madoka drowned in it.) 

“don’t worry, homura-chan,” she smiled, even as her voice cracked and wanted, “i’ll fix this.”

she took another bow, whispering.

“ **encore**.” 

(best not to keep the actors waiting, isn’t it?) 

* * *

it wasn’t the last time mami killed them.

but it was the most memorable. the first.

even if the bullet didn’t connect, a piece of madoka’s heart broke that day.

she used to trust mami. she used to love her.

(she doesn’t blame her. how could she? mami was right, after all—to be shattered is a _mercy_. but it is not one that madoka could afford, and it is not one that madoka could accept; not for sayaka, not for _homura_. they could still be saved—the clock meant nothing to someone like her.)

(but she was too late. too late for mami, and too late for kyouko. time may bend for her but it would not _break_. she couldn’t go back far enough, _she couldn’t save them._ no matter what she did, no matter how she tried, they were doomed before she even met them. and that couldn’t be her fault; it couldn’t be, because if it was, she wouldn’t be able to bare it. she bit down those feelings, and focused on the people she _could_ save, trying hard to feel like she wasn’t betraying them. wasn’t meassuring people over them, counting lives on a scale.) 

(she was lying to herself. she knew, because when she made that wish, the person she pictured was _homura_ , and homura _alone_.) 

~~(she should have made a different wish she should have chose a different way she should have gone back further it was all her fault it was all her fault _it was all her fault—)_~~

* * *

she takes out her ribbons.

they were flashy and red, like the striking lipstick her mother wore. bold where madoka was meek—they represented what she _wanted_ to be, the kind of person she wished to. 

they did not suit her at all.

(homura-chan had always loved them. she said they fit her, mumbled it with that cute little flush upon her face, matching her color. madoka had smiled back, the same as she’d done in all these loops, the words familiar and worn. she was still endearing, despite that—always so endearing, really, even if her words couldn’t have been more wrong. smile still stitched in place, bittersweet, madoka repeated her lines dutifully; the lead actress in this play, completely alone on her stage.) 

* * *

mami died. sayaka died. kyouko died. homura died.

rinse, wash, repeat.

the same tired old thing as always.

(she’s seen all her friends as witches. morbidly, she wonders what she would be like, wrapped in that despair. she doesn’t want to know.) 

* * *

a scene.

she’ll never forget it, as long as she lives.

two actors lay, aware of the script, laughing hollow. madoka is out of grief seeds; madoka is near out of hope.

homura smiles, her red glasses broken, and says she doesn’t have any either.

(she’s lying; madoka believes her.)

and so madoka laughs. her chest burns acidic, like a dying star. she laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

her grief is as light as it is choking; without her hope weighing her down, she could soar.

its the worse she’s ever felt.

(or maybe it’s the _best_ ; she embraces her failure as it stings and smiles as she cries.)

“hey,” she says, straining, her body weak and dying as laugher still tumbles out of her, like weeds, “why don’t we destroy it all? everything? it’s all rotting, a-anyways.” her voice breaks. her giggles increase in pitch. “i really hate it all, homura-chan!” her smile is bright and strained as she turns her head to look at the other girl, “it hurts, i’m so tired,” her eyes close as her cheeks ache with her beam, “i just want it all to disappear.”

“m- _madoka_ ,” homura says, giving her all her focus—as if she was the only thing in this universe left that even _mattered_. as if she was everything. she can’t tell the emotion in her name, but her smile softens, all the same. 

“that’s right. _look at me,_ ” her eyes connect with hers, “i love you, and it hurts. give me all of your attention. give me _everything_.” 

tears shine in homura’s eyes. she isn’t smiling. “madoka,” she repeats. madoka still doesn’t get what she means, behind it, but she loves hearing her name, from those lips. she wants everything. everything homura has to give, she wants it.

wants to eat it like they were stars, cupped in her hand and sweet. drink it up like tears, gleaming; beautiful, every piece of her.

she’s starving.

(she’s insatiable; she won’t be satisfied. everything is not enough. she wants _more_.) 

“i love you, homura-chan,” it spills from her lips like babble, “i love you more than anything. i would destroy anything for you.” her smile doesn’t falter, “i’d destroy _myself_.” 

“i-is that your despair? loving me?” homura’s voice is shaking.

madoka eyes widen. she feels like something has opened up in her chest, wide and gaping, a black hole where there was once light. “ _no!_ ” her voice scrapes her throat, smile gone, eyes swirling—tears frantic and plentiful, “ _how could you even **say** that? how could you not **understand**?”_

she was wrong, before.

this despair is not light, but heavy. she can’t breathe under it.

(like she even needs to—she’s as good as a walking corpse, isn’t she? soon, she won’t even be that much.) 

she lets it smother her. “ _loving you is my hope,_ ” her voice is high, begging, “ _ **breaking** myself is my **hope**!”_

homura is silent. she doesn’t understand. maybe it doesn’t make much sense, to anyone but her.

maybe she’s alone.

it feels like drowning. it feels like dying. 

_(and maybe **that** was madoka's despair.) _

homura takes her hand. madoka cannot read her expression. “i love you,” she says, “and my despair is that i wish i _didn’t_.” 

something breaks on homura’s face. something desperate shines through on her own. “tell me that you love me, homura-chan. _tell me that you hate me._ ”

( _she wants **everything, everything, everything** ; she’s **ravenous**._) 

“i want it all. your wishes, your curses—everything you can give, give it to me. comfort me. help me. save me. _hurt me,_ ” her thoughts bleed, gold and pink, “ _ **break** me.”_

she smiles, “destroy everything about me until i can’t even _think_. i don’t want to think, homura-chan,” she lays out every ugly thought she’s ever had, “i don’t want to _exist_.”

despair and hope really aren’t so different, she thinks. two sides of the same coin; she’s not sure which is which when she pleads, _“destroy me until i’m **nothing**._”

(homura’s expression cracks even further. she might look horrified; madoka can’t tell through her tears.) 

“we are made from the cosmos,” she hears her self say, distant, “our love could be the final act of our little play.” she giggles. “isn’t it like were dancing, homura-chan?” her chest aches. “i love you. i’m so selfish. i wanted to be the one to save you—to save everyone. like that would give me worth, or something.” 

she looks up into the sky; into the ash that floats above them, the gray that suffocates. “i’ve always been worthless, though. i should have known better, than to try and rise above. i can’t save you. i can’t even save myself.” 

she turns to look at her once more, smiling. “i’m really pathetic, homura-chan.” she squeezes her hand tighter, as tight as she can, with this failing body. “i’m not a savior,” she notices that homura’s gem gets darker with every word. “i’m weak,” she still can’t stop, each admittance ripped out of her. a confessional: homura, the goddess she worships, madoka, her devoted follower—each of her sins whispered like one would a sweet nothing, tender and wanting. “i hate myself.”

it felt good to say it. to finally admit it; satisfying, even as it crushes her. she coughs another laugh, baring her every fault, technicolored, “i think i always have.” 

she wishes homura would take her gun and shoot her, grant her one last mercy, one last gift—to die at the hands of the girl she loves. it would be a pleasant dream, her final one. she wishes mami succeeded, the first time she tried. she wishes she was never born, wishes she had never met her, wishes she never wished in the first place. wishes this was over already; she wishes she was _dead_.

desperately, frantic with a sick desire, she wishes homura would take her gem, and _shatter it._

(she wants it more than she can remember ever wanting anything; she curses herself with it.)

homura doesn’t do any of that.

grim-faced and determined, she lunges, grief seed in hand. madoka’s heart stops, as she straddles her. _no_ , she thinks, wild, something desperate and breaking, _no, no, no, no, please no just let it **end** —_

the grief seeds connects with the gem on her chest, and for the first time since this started, since each of their gems went near-dark, homura smiles, laugh weak and strained.

“i lied.” 

like a puppet whose string were cut, she slumped against her, energy spent, still laughing soft. “h-homura?” madoka called out, holding the girl in her arms as she giggled, breathless. fear pierced through her mind.

(homura was going to leave her all alone again.)

“i’m selfish, too, madoka,” homura lifts herself up on shaking arms, her tears burned into madoka’s mind. “i’m so fucking selfish, to ask you this.” 

her smile is as sweet as bitter. “but i couldn’t stand to see you turn into one of those things. please, don’t ever do that. i love you too much to see that.”

madoka gasped; homura smiled. “you said you’re not a savior, but that’s wrong, madoka. you’re everything to me. you’re _special_.” something bitter and rueful slipped into her voice, “i’m not a good person—i don’t know why you would love someone like me. but you saved me, madoka. you cared for me—you made _me_ care.” 

her arms collapsed, unable to support her weight. she continued on, anyways, whispering it to her chest, “you are **hope** , madoka. you are _light_.”

“and you are **love** ,” madoka whispered back, “i’ve never felt anything so warm.”

homura smiled, hidden from view, warbled and coated with tears. “stop me. stop me from wishing something so stupid, madoka. stop the past me, foolish and blind, from making a deal with the devil.”

madoka swallowed. “i will.” she sells her soul once more for her, “i promise.” 

“thank you.” homura’s arms tightened around her. “and...”

she paused, hesitating. “i know it’s selfish. but there’s one more thing i have to ask of you.”

the response is immediate, “anything.” 

homura’s laugh was weak. “i don’t want to be—i don’t want to be a witch, madoka. i don’t want to curse the world.”

madoka smiled at her, comforting. “okay, homura-chan,” something in her breaks, as she sobs it, “okay.” 

* * *

and she remembers it in her dreams, unfair. she always will.

her gun goes off; she hears homura’s gem shatter. her eyes are closed. she can’t even look.

a coward.

homura will be fine. she knows this, even as she pulls the trigger. homura will be fine, because madoka will make sure she’s fine, twisting in time endlessly, tangled up in the threads.

whatever broke in madoka will never be fixed. 

* * *

(why did she think she could ever do this? no matter what homura said, she was not a savior—she was madoka kaname, and nothing more. nothing _special_ , boring and plain and a _waste_ , a waste, a goddamn _waste,_ and it was cruel. it was all too cruel; she was scared. this knowledge burdened her, this mission burned, and her hopes felt like ash in her mouth. but she clutched them, tight, held on, feet hitting pavement as she struggled not to stumble. she had to; only she had this power, this last, scorching ember. it hurt to grasp, yet her grip did not falter, not once. even if her arm littered itself with scars, even if her existence burned up in it, even if she herself even ceased to exist—it was surely hope, all the same.)

(it was always going to be this way, no matter the wish she clung to.)

* * *

madoka kaname was not the hero; she was simply playing pretend, the lead actress.

cast cruelly in the role as one. 

(she’s dug her own grave with a want that’s betrayed her; she keeps digging, all the same.) 

~~(she wants to prove it was not wrong to hope; she grasps the thread in her hands, and keeps pulling, heedless to how she unravels.)~~

**Author's Note:**

> i hope to god(oka) i didn’t miss any typos, bc it’s getting akward whenever i have to go back after the fact and correct them.
> 
> official playlist for this series here: [don’t build hope on something broken](https://playmoss.com/en/junkfuck/playlist/donat-build-hope-on-something-broken-i-am-not-cartoon) !!


End file.
